


mother may i sleep with danger?

by playedwright



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Established Relationship, Field Operative Richie Tozier, Frottage, Gun Kink, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25100971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playedwright/pseuds/playedwright
Summary: “Are you fucking hard?” Eddie asks, incredulous.Richie glances down at his dick. “A little bit,” he answers, although the correct answer isactually I think I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my life and if you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna bust before I even put my hand down my pants.“A little bit,” Eddie repeats.“A lot?” Richie corrects, uncertain. He shrugs halfheartedly. Eddie’s going to call him maligned when he realizes what spurred this on. And, Jesus Christ, if that thought doesn’t make Richie’s dick twitchagain.Eddie, still staring, inhales sharply.“A lot,” Eddie echoes faintly. “From… what, from watching me clean?”Richie swallows. “From watching you manhandle a fucking gun, Eddie.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 385





	mother may i sleep with danger?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadlight_s (scamsHan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scamsHan/gifts).



> self destruct reddie is the most feral, horny reddie to ever exist and it's not my fault ITS NOT MY FAULT THEY R LIKE THIS i am possessed
> 
> once again i am barging my way into [lore's](https://twitter.com/chernobrough) [self destruct](https://twitter.com/SelfDestruct_AU) universe, which is a brilliant smau on twitter that lives rent free in my mind. if you're reading this you are legally obligated to read that. like LEGALLY obligated it's the law. this fic happens roughly during the first interlude.
> 
> content warnings for mentioned violence/recovery from violence, weapons, and other things you'd expect in a spy au.
> 
> i tagged this as gun kink but there is no actual gun in use during the actual sex part, richie's just horny and sees eddie with a gun and goes "must sleep with husband NOW"

Richie is fucking unhinged. He’s maligned. Some wires in his brain must have gotten crossed before he was born, because the _danger_ center of his brain is a little too closely tied to the _pleasure_ center for him to think he’s normal.

He’s known this for a while. Still, it surprises him when he comes downstairs one day and finds Eddie sitting on the couch, cleaning a pistol with such focus that a little peek of his tongue is poking out between his teeth, and Richie’s dick literally twitches.

“What,” he tries to say. “What. What are you doing.”

Eddie doesn’t look up. He makes quick and thorough work of cleaning the magazine spring with a towel. Richie’s throat is dry. “What does it look like I’m doing, asshole?”

Richie blinks. There’s static where thoughts should be in his brain. Overlaid with the image of Eddie’s clever fingers handling the disassembled parts of a gun like he’s done it a thousand times before. The sharp intake of breath he takes is shaky. “Is that my gun?”

“No, it’s the one I went out and bought for fun, because I don’t think we have enough weapons in the house,” Eddie snaps. “Of course it’s yours, dumbass. One of the many you have hidden. Because there are more, right? Just. Hiding throughout the house. Our house. That we own together because we are married.”

“Yes,” Richie says slowly. “There are a few. Hidden. Around our house we own as husbands. Because I’m… a spy…”

Eddie huffs as he oils the magazine spring. His hands don’t stop moving, rapidly reassembling the gun as he gets more and more worked up. “Yes, Richie, I know. You’re a spy. My husband is a spy! He’s big and broad and has all these secret muscles that make me want to gnaw on our bed frame when I think about it. He also stores weapons in our house, to protect us, because he’s a spy which means he does secret shit that is probably super dangerous, and that shouldn’t be sexy to me. It shouldn’t! It shouldn’t be sexy! But he’s big and he protects me even if I don’t fucking _need_ protecting, I’m a goddamn grown ass adult, but he could take down probably, like, at least ten people at once, and it’s fucking. It’s.”

Richie is certain that if he moves even an inch, he’s going to come in his pants. He’s painfully hard, just from. From fucking, _what,_ watching Eddie handle a gun? Listening to Eddie rant about how sexy he apparently thinks Richie is while he _reassembles a gun?_

Eddie sighs. He puts the gun down on the table, unloaded and reassembled. Richie wonders which hiding spot Eddie pulled it from.

“Where’d you learn how to do that,” Richie finally manages to say. He thinks about how he’s had multiple trainings on how to keep his composure in various situations and how all of it goes out the fucking window the second his husband starts talking about sex.

“This is the third time I’ve cleaned this gun today,” Eddie admits. “I watched a YouTube video the first time, but I think I have it down now.”

Richie swallows thickly. His voice is strained when he says, “Yeah, I’d. I’d say you have it down.”

Finally, _excruciatingly,_ Eddie turns to look at Richie, who is still frozen at the foot of the stairs. Eddie looks at his face first, because Eddie is a fucking romantic who still, like, _enjoys_ seeing Richie’s face for whatever reason, but inevitably his gaze starts to drop as he takes all of Richie in. His shoulders tighten when his gaze gets to Richie’s crotch.

“Are you fucking hard?” Eddie shouts, incredulous.

Richie glances down at his dick. “A little bit,” he answers, although the correct answer is _actually I think I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my life and if you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna bust before I even put my hand down my pants._

“A little bit,” Eddie repeats.

“A lot?” Richie corrects, uncertain. He shrugs halfheartedly. Eddie’s going to call him maligned when he realizes what spurred this on. And, Jesus Christ, if that thought doesn’t make Richie’s dick twitch _again._ Eddie, still staring, inhales sharply.

“A lot,” Eddie echoes faintly. “From… what, from watching me clean?”

Richie swallows. “From watching you manhandle a fucking gun, Eddie.”

Eddie’s gaze snaps back up to Richie’s face. Richie can’t quite interpret the expression. He thinks it’s a good expression. He thinks it’s an expression that means good things are going to happen to him and his dick soon.

“You got _that_ hard from watching me hold a gun,” Eddie states.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have problems,” Eddie says flatly.

“And issues,” Richie agrees. His throat is so fucking dry. “Problems and issues. Probably should get them checked out.”

Eddie tilts his head. “What, so the doctors can diagnose you with dick sickness?”

“I already have that diagnosis,” Richie says seriously. “Doctors said it’s terminal. And chronic. I’ll never live without it. I’m going to be eighty years old and drooling probably and still gagging for it—”

Eddie moves like lightning, sitting on the couch one second then shooting to his feet and darting over to the stairs in the next. He grabs a handful of Richie’s shirt and yanks him down, shutting Richie up mid-fucking-monologue with a kiss that starts filthy and just gets dirtier.

Richie moves on instinct, wrapping one arm around Eddie’s waist to pull him close and putting his other hand right on the swell of Eddie’s ass, palming what he can and relishing in the way that Eddie groans into his mouth. With the hand still clinging to a fistful of Richie’s shirt, Eddie pushes Richie backwards up the stairs until they’re both stumbling, trying to make their way up. It would be quicker work to break the kiss, but Eddie licks the back of Richie’s teeth like he’s got something to prove and Richie forgets, for a moment, that there was ever a time that they weren’t connected like this.

He has the half-manic thought that he could do it, he could pick Eddie up and wrap Eddie’s legs around his hips and carry him up the stairs, he could hold both their weights and practically sprint to their bedroom to get them there faster, but he feels like he’s operating on a hairpin trigger anyway _just_ with the way that Eddie’s stomach is pressed against Richie’s dick, and if he’s being honest, he’s enjoying the desperate, frantic way they both move against each other in an attempt to get up the stairs without breaking a single point of contact.

Eventually they do make it, and it’s a clear shot to the bedroom, except for Eddie must forget what the end goal is here, or maybe he doesn’t care, because the second that they clear the stairs, Eddie uses all his strength to steer Richie back and slam him against the wall. Eddie’s hands go to Richie’s hair, curling his fingers in the waves and using his grip as leverage to kiss Richie better. Richie feels fucking powerless, pinned and ravished and so desperately horny he thinks he might die.

“Eds,” he chokes out, and the second he breaks the kiss, Eddie tugs the color of Richie’s shirt down and latches onto a spot above his collarbone. Richie’s head bangs back against the wall. The pictures hanging there rattle, like they’re uncertain whether or not they’re going to fall, and the idea that both of them are gagging for it so badly that they’re going to knock _pictures off the wall_ almost makes Richie blow his load right then and there. Fucking _hairpin trigger._ “Eddie, baby, Eds. I’m gonna fucking. You gotta put your hand on my dick or I’m gonna die.”

“Mm,” Eddie murmurs. He bites a spot on Richie’s neck, and when Richie shivers, he smooths over the skin with his tongue. “So you’re saying you want me to put my hand on another weapon tonight.”

Richie cries out. He gets a hand on Eddie’s jaw and tilts his head up, kissing him again and matching the levels of dirty they started with. Eddie’s groan reverberates behind his teeth. And Richie’s going insane, he feels crazy, he feels feverish, and when he slips his hands under Eddie’s shirt and finally makes contact with skin, he’s certain his heart is going to pound out of his chest. He needs it, he needs _something,_ so he uses his size to push both of them away from the wall and start leading them to their bedroom.

Finally, _finally,_ they make it, and as soon as they cross the threshold, Eddie pulls away from Richie and puts some space between them, standing in the doorway. Richie stumbles uncertainly back towards the bed.

Eddie looks ravished, in a way he so often does when they have sex, and Richie drinks it in like he’s dying of thirst. Eddie’s hair is in disarray. His shirt is wrinkled from the various places Richie had grabbed it to hold onto him. And there’s an obvious tent in his shorts, proving, delightfully, that Eddie is just as fucking hard as Richie is from this whole ordeal. Pride surges through Richie’s veins, closely tied to pleasure, and he preens at it. They’ve been married for literal _years_ and he’ll never get over the fact that he turns his husband on.

“Lay down,” Eddie says evenly. He pushes a little at Richie’s shoulder to encourage him, like Richie isn’t already weak in the knees and falling backwards just from Eddie’s commanding tone. It’s jarring, the shift from their frantic making out, to this. To Eddie’s confidence and assertiveness. Richie falls back onto the bed, but before he can fully lie back, Eddie adds, “Take off your shirt.”

Richie grabs a handful of the fabric at the back of his neck and tugs his shirt up and off. He throws it somewhere, not really caring where it goes. Eddie’s looking at him like he’s going to tear Richie apart, so Richie’s fairly certain Eddie doesn’t really care, either.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie says in a thick voice. His gaze is caught on Richie’s chest.

They’ve both been covered in bandages for the past few weeks, healing from wounds and broken ribs and about a thousand other emotional damages as well, but Richie’s chest is cleared now. He’s back in one piece, no bandages required.

“You don’t have any new scars,” Eddie murmurs faintly. He stands at the foot of the bed and stretches out his hand until he’s practically palming Richie’s pec. “You were stabbed like ten times and you don’t even have any new scars.”

“Yeah, Stan’s a genius,” Richie answers. “And it was only, like, eight. I think.”

Eddie’s gaze snaps up to Richie’s eyes, finally. His pupils are almost completely blown, the brown of his irises just a thin ring at this point. “Oh, I’m sorry that I don’t keep track of how many times you’ve gotten stabbed.”

“I forgive you.”

“But it’s too bad,” Eddie says easily. He presses his hand into one of Richie’s old scars, something from another bullet hole or stab wound or, once, the heel of someone’s stiletto. “I like your scars. They’re hot.”

Richie lets out an involuntary whine. “You’re gonna give me a complex,” he gasps out. “I’m gonna go out and get stabbed again just so I can have a sexy scar for my husband. I know people who would do it for fun.”

“Yeah, Stan,” Eddie agrees. “But can you stop fucking talking about getting stabbed when I’m trying to fuck you?”

Richie nods sagely. “Ah, yes,” he says. “We can talk about a different kind of penetrating injury.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs. His voice is rapid, frantic, borderline angry, as he yells out, “You’re so fucking stupid, I hate you, how are you this fucking maligned?” But then in one easy movement, as he’s done it a thousand times before, Eddie swings a leg over Richie’s hips and straddles him, effectively pinning Richie down into the mattress. The swell of his ass presses right against Richie’s dick. Richie cries out again. Eddie grins. “Oh, baby, you’re really gagging for it.”

“Literally always,” Richie gasps out. He thinks he’s calmed down a bit, enough that he’s not going to come in his pants if Eddie keeps looking at him like he wants to take Richie apart. His curiosity for what Eddie has planned is enough to convince Richie he wants this to last.

“God, you’re a nightmare,” Eddie mutters. He trails a hand up Richie’s side teasingly. “How do you go through life this horny all the time? Years of marriage isn’t enough to slow down your libido?”

Richie ruts his hips up, almost involuntarily. “You know I like it when you’re mean to me,” he gasps out.

“Like I said,” Eddie tells him. “You’re maligned.”

“Yeah, just like that,” Richie encourages, and about five percent of it is a joke but the rest of it is completely dead-fucking-serious.

Eddie looks at him, contemplating. The same kind of look he gets in his eyes every time he’s thinking about trying something new. Richie’s vision whites out for a moment. He can’t tell what Eddie’s thinking and it drives him _nuts,_ but the mere thought of Eddie pulling out something new tonight, on top of the fucking display he put on unknowingly earlier, is enough to make Richie feel like he’s going to claw at the walls.

“What?” Richie asks. His heart is pounding in his chest.

“Shut up,” Eddie says. There’s a loving smile on his face. He leans forward and kisses Richie, nowhere near as frantically as they had been kissing before. Just a kiss because he can. A husband kiss. “I’m going to try something.”

“Oh god,” Richie groans.

Eddie sits back again, rutting his ass against Richie’s dick, intentionally or unintentionally. Richie groans again and grabs a fistful of sheets. Eddie shrugs out of his own shirt, throwing it in the same general direction Richie had thrown his. Then, after another moment’s hesitation and deliberation, Eddie strengthens his resolve and makes a gun with his hand before pressing the two fingers into Richie’s sternum.

Richie lets out a punched out, choked sound. His eyes go wide.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. His voice is thick. “I thought you might like that.”

“ _Eddie,_ ” Richie gasps out. His heart is pounding. Eddie has to be able to feel it, with his fingers pushing down in that exact spot. Eddie has to know that whatever the fuck he is doing is _absolutely fucking ruining_ Richie’s life.

Eddie digs his fingers in a little deeper, and Richie cries out again. He slams both of his hands against the bed and grips the sheets until his knuckles go white. “God, this really gets you off, doesn’t it?” Eddie says wonderingly.

Richie can’t do much but let out desperate little gasps. He wonders if that’s enough to answer Eddie’s question.

“Interesting,” Eddie says, and that’s all the warning Richie gets before Eddie moves his hand and presses his fingers, still poised as a gun, into Richie’s mouth.

Richie’s vision whites out so hard, he’s certain he is seeing fucking stars.

His hips stutter off the bed again, rutting uselessly up like it will get him the friction he wants at all. Eddie keeps his fingers in Richie’s mouth. He looks wrecked, desperate for it, too, startled at the visceral response this has gotten out of Richie. Skeptically, he raises his other hand so he can cup the bottom of the left one, almost the exact way he’d hold a gun.

“Problems and issues,” Eddie repeats faintly, when Richie starts to moan. He can’t do anything else, he can’t say anything with Eddie’s _fingers in his mouth._ “Fucking. Dick sickness. Some synapses in your brain are misconnected. But this is. It’s really doing it for you, huh?”

Richie whines.

“Interesting,” Eddie repeats. “I’m going to put my hand on your dick now.”

Richie’s hand shoots up, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and stopping him from taking his fingers out of Richie’s mouth. His eyes are still wide. He’s certain his pupils are blown. Eddie’s face goes through a series of complicated emotions before he realizes what Richie wants.

“You want me to stay like this,” Eddie breathes out. Richie nods breathlessly. “Baby, I need both of my hands to take our pants off.”

Richie shakes his head. He lets go of Eddie’s wrist and uses both hands to palm Eddie’s ass, encouraging him up a little. He slips his hands underneath the waistband of Eddie’s shorts and raises an eyebrow suggestively.

“Hm,” Eddie says. “Fuck it.”

Eddie lifts his hips enough that Richie can tug the shorts down, just enough until Eddie’s dick is free and practically leaking precum against his stomach. Richie nearly licks his lips at the sight of it before he remembers Eddie’s fingers are in his mouth. It leaves him no choice but to run his tongue against Eddie’s knuckles. Eddie shivers against him.

“We’re not gonna get our pants off all the way, are we?” Eddie asks. Richie shakes his head. Eddie sits up on his knees so that Richie has enough space to tug his own pants off, shoving the fabric down off his thighs as best as he can. When Eddie goes to settle back down, still straddling Richie, he shifts so that their dicks line up perfectly. “There we go.”

Richie sucks on Eddie’s fingers, and Eddie gasps and ruts his hips forward. It takes Richie a moment of searching the sheets, hand smacking uselessly against the mattress as he tries to find the lube from this morning that they didn’t bother putting away, but eventually he finds it underneath a blanket and lets out a victorious groan. Eddie puts his fingers into Richie’s mouth more, making breathless little sounds every time that Richie licks them up and down. Richie pops open the cap. He’s never been more glad to have clever fingers, fingers trained for defusing bombs or digging out bullets or throwing knives without looking, because it makes it easier now to handle the bottle until it’s open and he can squeeze a little bit of lube onto his other hand. Once he’s satisfied with it, he caps the bottle again and throws it somewhere without looking before taking both his and Eddie’s dick in his palm and wrapping his fingers around them.

“Richie, _Richie,_ ” Eddie chokes out. He rocks his hip forward, rubbing their dicks together, and both of them cry out. He throws his head back, exposing the long, perfect line of his throat. Richie’s eyes catch on a hickey he’d left there days ago. Pride surges through him again. He _did_ that. He’s doing _this._ He flexes his hand against them both and fucks his hips up, encouraging Eddie to do the same.

Eddie’s got a better range of motion, being on top and not being pinned down by strong thighs and a hand in his mouth, but Richie makes up for it in his determination to chase the pleasured cries that Eddie lets out every time Richie’s able to match his thrusts. Richie alternates between a tight grip and a loose one, flexing his hand at different intervals and relishing in the way that it alters the pace Eddie keeps trying to set. He feels feverish still, overwhelmingly turned on by this position and Eddie’s dick and Eddie’s hands in his mouth and the fact that they couldn’t even get their pants off fully before they had to start fucking. His entire body is on fire, nerve endings are exposed, and he wants to chant out Eddie’s name but he _can’t._ He wants to cry out, he wants to shout, he wants to shower Eddie in the praises he so clearly deserves, but all he can do is moan around Eddie’s fingers and drink in every frantic cry that falls from Eddie’s lips.

Richie’s free hand is still flailing against the sheets, looking for something to hold on to, and when Eddie’s gaze drops back down to Richie’s face and body, he notices. He reaches up and twines their fingers together. It’s intimate, full of love, the kind of thing they only do because they’re married and they’ve been in love for fifteen unbelievable years. It’s that, the intimacy, in the long run, that makes this sex better. That makes their sex go from excellent to the best of his fucking life.

He can’t say _I love you,_ not like this, even though he wants to. Even though he wants to say a lot of things. He can’t do anything but continually grunt and cry out as Eddie finally, _finally,_ picks up the pace and fucks his hips faster and harder. Richie tightens his grip now, matching the urgency in which Eddie moves against him, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

Eddie cries out his name, over and over, interlaced with moans that Richie dreams about literally constantly, and Richie knows that Eddie’s close, too. He does what he can to rock upwards. He twists his hand the way he knows Eddie loves. He splits Eddie’s fingers apart with his tongue, breaking the gun pose that Eddie’s managed to keep this entire time, until Eddie flexes his wrist and starts to fuck his fingers into Richie’s mouth as well.

It’s too much, it’s too _good,_ and Richie’s vision starts to blur at the same time that heat starts to coil in his gut. He means to warn Eddie, he wants to, but Eddie beats him to it, gasping out, “Richie, I’m gonna—” and that, apparently, is all it takes for Richie to finally spill over.

He cries out as he comes, gripping Eddie’s hand so tightly he’s certain it must hurt, but Eddie holds him back just as tightly and continues to rut against him, helping Richie chase every last drop of his orgasm. His eyes squeeze shut, or maybe his brain literally forgets to tell his eyes to work, but for a moment he can’t see anything and all he can hear is the telltale sign of Eddie getting closer and closer to his own orgasm. He feels strung out, he feels properly fucked, he feels relaxed and wound up and taken care of and ruined all at once, and when he finally comes back to himself, Richie lets go of the grip he had on both of them to wrap his hand just around Eddie.

He matches Eddie’s pace as best as he can while still trying to come back down from his own high, keeping his grip as tight as Eddie likes it and rubbing the pad of his thumb against the head of Eddie’s dick. Richie thinks less than a minute goes by before Eddie comes with a shout, tensing against Richie and bracing himself as he spills all over Richie’s stomach. By the time he’s done, Richie’s blinking as his eyes adjust again, and Eddie’s chest is heaving. Both of them are drenched in sweat.

“Holy fuck,” Eddie breathes. He takes his fingers out of Richie’s mouth and, without much else to do, collapses onto the bed next to Richie. He curls up on his side and presses his nose to Richie’s bicep. “Holy fuck.”

Richie works his jaw a bit. His throat is a bit sore as he says, “Yeah. Holy fuck.”

Eddie snorts breathlessly. There’s a moment of quiet, just a small moment that passes between them, before he starts giggling. Full-body giggles that shake the bed. Richie, unable to help it, starts to laugh with him. “Of course you have a gun kink. You fucking freak.”

“Hey!” Richie protests. “It’s not like I asked if we could use weapons in the bedroom.”

“Your dick is a weapon,” Eddie says back stupidly. He’s sex drunk, strung out on endorphins and a post-orgasm high. Richie’s so in love with him he aches with it.

“Yeah, I keep telling you that,” Richie agrees. He turns his head and shifts forward enough that he can kiss Eddie’s sweaty forehead. “You’re so gross. Dripping with sweat. As much as you say I was gagging for it…”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me.”

Eddie obliges him with a kiss. Lazy, easy. Another husband kiss. Just something simple, something easy. Because they can. They’re both smiling when he pulls away. “Think you could carry me to the shower?”

Richie contemplates. “On a normal day, yeah. After that? No. I think I have muscle atrophy.”

“From the dick sickness,” Eddie says solemnly.

“I told you it was chronic.”

Eddie grins. “Yeah, well. Maybe I got the cure. Have you ever thought of that?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep,” Eddie says smugly. “I got the cure in my pants.”

Richie laughs so hard, the bed starts to shake again. He rolls over until he’s covering Eddie’s body with his own, ignoring Eddie’s protests about sweat and come and any other disgustingness between them. He brackets his arms on either side of Eddie’s body; Eddie’s arms twine around his back. “I love you.”

“So you say,” Eddie sighs.

Richie kisses him.

“Oh, okay,” Eddie murmurs. “Fine, you mean it. You love me. Guess that was in our vows.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “Will you just say you love me back?”

“Was that in our vows?”

“I’m gonna pinch you.”

Eddie lets out a sharp, involuntary laugh when Richie pinches his side. “Fine, fine! I love you. You fucking weirdo. I love you so much I’d marry you all over again. How’s that for love, huh, asshole?”

Richie kisses him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://rchtoziers.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/SPACERICHlE) if you want to come say hello!


End file.
